More Than Just Friends
by Bluecrow213
Summary: A first date usually doesn't involve a bar fight. Unless, of course, you happen to be Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton. Sequel to 'Some Assembly Required' but can be read as a stand-alone. Rated T for violence and adult situations. I do not own any of these characters.
1. Chapter 1

Intention is one thing, reality quite another. In the three months since Clint had 'come to his senses', as he thought of it, he and Natasha had barely seen each other, never mind managed to go on a date.

First, she'd headed out on a mission that kept her in Europe for six weeks. During that time Clint's pneumonia, which had been the result of having his head held under water until he passed out, had proved particularly stubborn. It had finally cleared up just before Natasha returned, but by the time she got back, Clint had been sent to a S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility for testing and reconditioning following his enforced inactivity. From there, he'd gone straight to his next mission.

Finally they were both in New York on leave at the same time, and had embarked on their first 'official' date. It was not going as well as they had anticipated.

This was exactly what Clint had been afraid of when their relationship had moved beyond friendship. When they were just friends, they'd been completely at ease in each others' company, able to talk, or be quiet without awkwardness. Now, however, Clint felt uncomfortable, and he could tell that Natasha felt the same. The silences stretched between them until one of them broke it out of sheer nerves. They'd had dinner and then gone to a movie (god, were they really that cliched?) and were now wandering aimlessly. Clint was wondering if they should just give up and call it a night, but then on impulse he nodded towards a bar. "Drink?" he suggested. Who knows, it might help them both relax.

It was small and dark, nothing fancy, and about half-full. Clint and Natasha settled at the bar, and ordered drinks, then Clint excused himself for a few minutes. When he returned from the men's room, he saw that his seat had been taken by a tall, dark-haired man, in sweat pants and a stained t-shirt. The guy was talking to Natasha, who was keeping her gaze determinedly on her drink. She had a look on her face that was usually the precursor to blood flowing and bones snapping; but she generally tried not to use her special talents on civilians.

The man put his arm around her shoulders, and Natasha spoke, still not looking up. Clint was too far away to hear what she said amid the noise of the bar, but the look on the guy's face darkened, and as Clint came up behind him, he heard the man saying "...teach you not to be so uppity, missy..."

"Take a hike, buddy, the lady's not interested," Clint said, keeping his tone light. The man turned with a sneer, and looked down at Clint – he must be a good six inches taller.

"Who's this loser? He your boyfriend, honey? Time you had a real man..."

Natasha put her glass down on the bar with a sharp rap, as Clint said, "I told you to take a hike."

The man stepped closer and shoved his shoulder. "You gonna make me?" he said mockingly.

"If I have to," Clint replied, resigned now to the outcome.

The other guy spread his arms slightly, grinning. "Take your best shot."

Clint's best shot dropped the man like a stone. Of course, jerks usually travel in packs, and in moments the guy's friends, dressed similarly but not quite as built, came barrelling over from the corner. Seeing trouble about to boil over, the bartender reached under the bar and hauled out a shotgun. "Take it outside, guys," he said, waving the gun warningly.

"With pleasure," Clint muttered. He bulldozed the nearest guy out the door and into the alley beside the bar, where he dealt with him swiftly and efficiently, all the while aware of the ruckus behind him. He grinned as he turned to take on the next guy. Natasha was right in the thick of things, disposing of a couple of guys with her customary skill. Clint took care of the last one, then he and Natasha stood back to admire their work. He looked over at her, and they exchanged grins, and then it seemed perfectly natural to step closer, push her gently back against the wall, and kiss her.

It was as if the fight had broken down some unspoken barrier between them. Natasha's hands were all over him, in his hair, moving over his chest, one hand reaching round to grab his ass. Clint put a hand in the small of her back, pulling her hips tight against his, and as he slid the other hand under her shirt, Natasha groaned softly. Clint broke the kiss long enough to ask, "Your place or mine?"

Around the renewed kiss, Natasha gasped, "Both too far. There' s motel across the street..."

"What are we waiting for?"

"Nothing that I know of."

It actually took them quite a while to get there, because they couldn't keep their hands off each other. They almost got wiped out by a sports car speeding past, because they were paying no attention to the traffic. The near-miss made them focus long enough to cross the street safely, and they made it to the motel reception. It was a small, dingy place, though it was really just old, rather than badly-maintained. The clerk at the desk barely looked up as he took their cash and pushed a key across the counter, and didn't even bother to watch as they headed to their room.

* * *

As he drove his sports car through the run-down neighbourhood, Tony Stark frowned. He looked in his rearview mirror, trying to confirm what he'd just seen, then glanced at Pepper. "Was that what I think it was?" he asked.

Pepper looked up from her smart phone. "I don't know, I wasn't looking – what do you think it was?"

"Barton and Romanoff making out in the middle of the road."

"Those two are together?" Pepper looked thoughtful. "Well, it's about time!"


	2. Chapter 2

Someone hammered on the door of the motel room with a heavy hand. They tried to ignore it - "Seriously, we're not making that much noise... are we?" - but the pounding continued, and with a muttered curse, Clint rolled onto his back and lay there panting for a few moments. The knocking had stopped, and he grinned and was about to reach for Tasha again when it resumed, accompanied by a verbal demand to "open the ******* door!" Clint groaned and got up, grabbing the nearest thing to wrap around his hips as he went to answer the door.

When he opened it, he found the desk clerk waiting, an expression on his face that suggested that they'd been making a lot more noise than they'd realized. "Both of you out!" the angry little man snarled.

Clint gave him a skeptical look. "Is there a problem?"

"A problem? I've had multiple complaints about the noise. People at the other end of the building can hear you..." The clerk's eyes focused on whatever it was that Clint had wrapped around himself. "Is that...?" He looked over at the window, which no longer had curtains.

Realizing what he was looking at, Clint said, "Hey, that was an accident. Seriously, that curtain rod wasn't as strong as it looked, but..." Without intending to, he took a couple of steps forward, causing the clerk to back into the hallway. Clint noticed for the first time that other guests were out there - an angry looking man in briefs and a t-shirt, and further down, a red-faced woman, trying to shepherd a small child back into a room. At the sight of Clint wearing only a flimsy curtain, she grabbed the child and put her hand over its eyes, finally hustling the youngster out of sight.

"You're paying for the damage to that curtain rod," the clerk told Clint, as he tried to maneuver him out of the hallway. His gaze traveled back to the room. "And to the bed... seriously, how did you even do that...?"

Clint grinned. "You really want me to describe it?"

The clerk flushed dark red. "Never mind - but you're paying for it! And I want you both out of here in five minutes." He turned and scurried away towards reception, apparently afraid that he was going to hear sordid details that might leave mental scars.

Clint sighed and went back into the room. Tasha was sitting up in bed now, with a wicked little smirk on her face. "My place?" she suggested.

He grinned. "Looks like we've got no choice. Wonder how much he's going to fleece us for the damages."

As Tasha got out of bed and began to search for her clothes, she chuckled. "At least he didn't see the shower head and the towel rail..." she murmured.

It took them longer than five minutes to get dressed - Clint finally found his boxers, along with Tasha's bra, between the wardrobe and the wall - and they left the room. Walking down the hall towards reception, they saw one of the other guests peering around the door of a room. Clint nodded politely, and the man quickly vanished. They could hear him locking and bolting the door hastily.

At reception, Clint haggled for a few minutes over the amount the clerk wanted for the damage to the room. Eventually, though, he paid up – partly because he just wanted to get out of here and get to Tasha's apartment, but also because Tasha was starting to get that look on her face that would lead to more damages and an even higher bill.

Finally, they were on their way, taking the quickest route which led them through a distinctly seedy area of the city.

* * *

Steve Rogers was doing his regular stint with a charity organization, handing out food and warm clothing to the homeless on the streets of New York City. He found that it helped him feel more in touch, and just a little less lost in this modern world, to be around those who had grown up in it but were still lost.

Coming out of a dingy little laneway, he spotted a familiar flash of vivid red hair. Surely, that was Natasha Romanoff? The man she was with was partly hidden by his hoodie, but when they stopped at the lights the man turned towards her, and Romanoff pushed the hood back off his head, to run her fingers through his hair, then pull him in for a kiss. That kiss, intense and prolonged, made Steve look away, feeling uncomfortable. He still wasn't accustomed to the idea that such displays of raw desire could take place in public, and not cause outrage and outcry.

The couple broke apart, and Steve realized that the man with her was Barton, her fellow agent. He'd known the two were close, but hadn't realized that they were romantically involved. So was this something new for them, or had he just been oblivious to it when they'd been working as a team the previous year? And was this sort of relationship even allowed within S.H.I.E.L.D.? Should he be reporting them to Fury?

At this point the pair of them moved in for another kiss, and this time their hands were on each others' bodies, intimate groping that made Steve blush at the thought of having to describe what he was seeing to Fury. He turned quickly away, telling himself that it was none of his business, and probably Fury was already aware that the two agents were a couple.

To his relief, next time Steve looked up, the lights had changed, and Barton and Romanoff were on the other side of the street, still engrossed in each other, but moving steadily away from him. He decided that since they hadn't realized he was there, he would say nothing, and with a small sigh of relief, he turned his attention back to his real reason for being out here at this hour.

* * *

By the time Clint and Natasha made it to her apartment, they were more than ready to continue what had begun in the motel room. Natasha barely got the locks fastened, before Clint pulled her into his arms. They were gasping for breath when they finally pulled apart. Clint fumbled with the buttons on Tasha's blouse for a few minutes, before giving up and jerking it open, sending the buttons flying. Her hands were on his belt, unbuckling it at the same time as she was pulling him towards the bedroom. There was a slight crash as they stumbled into a chair.

"Your neighbors likely to complain?" Clint asked. Not that it was going to change anything, but it was useful to know if they were likely to be interrupted again by irate hammering on the door.

She smiled. "They wouldn't dare!" He grinned as he followed her into the bedroom.

Much later, lying exhausted side by side in the disheveled bed, Tasha remarked, "We should keep this under wraps for now."

Clint turned on his side to look at her. "Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?" he said teasingly.

Tasha snorted. "If I was the type to get embarrassed, I'd have drawn the blinds!" she said. "No – S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't forbid agents being involved with each other, but it's not exactly encouraged. But mostly it's just none of their damn business."

He nodded, shifting closer. "Right. Someone like Stark would never stop with the wisecracks if he knew. And Rogers..."

Tasha chuckled. "Poor guy would never stop blushing if he knew we were going to..." She moved closer and whispered something in his ear.

A grin began to spread on Clint's face. "Is that even physically possible?" he asked.

Tasha smirked. "You're about to find out!" she promised.

* * *

**A/N: This was originally going to be part of a much longer story, but the tone of the rest will be a lot darker, so I decided to leave this as a story in its own right, and create a separate story for the continuation.**


End file.
